


Go Under

by reillyblack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, reaper!Cas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2072562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reillyblack/pseuds/reillyblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on the prompt -  Imagine a verse where everyone is born with their own reaper who's destined to take their life when it's their time. Dean of course has always had close calls, but he doesn't know that he has an angel (of death) on his shoulders. Castiel was never supposed to interfere, but how could he let his only charge - his human - die before he saw that life play out so beautifully and completely?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Under

Dean blinks and he’s in the hospital. 

One minute he’s skidding down the road on his new motorcycle, and the next he’s in the hospital, hooked up to machines and breathing contraptions and god knows what else? 

He doesn’t need or want them so he rips them off, even though the IV stings a little when he does.  He feels fine.  Whatever reason they had for hooking him up in the first place, they were obviously being extra cautious since he can walk and stand just fine.  There’s not even a bruise on his body, from what he can see when he lifts up his shirt. 

Sammy’s nowhere to be seen, so Dean figures he’s out getting food or taking a rest at home.  If dad’s around, he’s with him since the off-white, sunlit room is empty besides him. 

Empty, except for the man leaning against the door, watching him. The extremely attractive man with eyes that made Dean want to leap off a cliff because they’re just that kind of beautiful.  

Even though he’s gorgeous as all hell, Dean has no idea why he’s in his room, looking at him like that.  He’s never seen him before in his life.

 

"Yo."  Dean waves, short and awkward.  "I’m Dean.  What’s up?"

The man tilts his head at him, the pause between them heavy before he says, “I’m Castiel.”

"You, uh, waiting for me to wake up or something?"

Castiel’s dressed all in black.  He looks kind of like that dude from the matrix, with the long coat— the character who’s ‘the one’ or whatever.  His dress is kind of dreary for a hospital, in Dean’s opinion. 

"I was."  

"You my… doctor?"  Dean ventured, unnerved by Castiel’s unwavering stare.

"I’m your reaper."

"My what?"

"I’m supposed to take you away to heaven, but I can’t bring myself to do so."  Castiel clarifies, his low, rockstar-sexy voice wavering in uncertainty as his gaze flickers away for the first time since Dean noticed him.

"Uh, what?"  Dean repeats, blinking in confusion.  

"You’re time is here, Dean."  Cas pushes off from the wall to approach him, stopping with too little space between them, not that Dean minds. "The fates scheduled your death; your heaven is waiting for you.  You can see your mother again."

"Holy shit."  Dean swallows hard.  "But I’m fine, look at me!  Not a scratch on me, I swear."

"You do not see what I see."  Castiel shakes his head and suddenly Dean spots himself on the bed, the one he just climbed up out of, still hooked up to all those machines.  A bloody bruise the size of Kansas blooms on one side of his face, one of his closed eyes too puffed to open if he tried.  Road rash covers what he can see of his left arm, too, angry and red and raw. 

"And what you can see is not the worst of it.  You are bleeding inside, Dean WInchester, and any moment now your body will cease to function."

"Shit.  No.  I can’t.  I can’t leave my brother, please.  I can’t do that to him.  You have to help me.  Please!"  Dean starts to panic.  Sammy and dad didn’t get along with him around, but how would they begin to function without him there to buffer?  And that motorcycle was just a fling, a mid, mid life crisis impulse buy— he still had to take care of Baby, make sure she was polished and cleaned and well maintained.  His father had entrusted her to him, he couldn’t just die and leave her to fend for herself.  Dad would take her in, but he would be so disappointed in him.  

"I have been watching you since you were born, waiting for this moment. But…"  Castiel pauses, his chest heaving in a silent sigh, "something went wrong in me, just as it has gone wrong in you.  I wished I could touch you."  Castiel reaches out, strokes a finger down Dean’s forearm in a way that should totally be creepy except that it’s somehow not. Instead, Dean shivers out of some combination of arousal and uncertainty.  "I wished I could speak to you.  And when I learned of how you were to die, I wished I could save you."

"We’re not supposed to feel this way, reapers.  We are supposed to do our job; it’s a simple one, a noble one."  Castiel’s hand is still on his wrist, his deep blue eyes boring into Dean, so deep Dean can’t think, can’t look away. Maybe it’s his magnetic eyes, or the hand on his wrist, Dean’s not sure, but he feels like like a buoy being towed into sea by an invisible rope— just below the surface— and he finds himself even closer to Castiel. He’s so close that there’s lips on his lips, and a taste like clean air after the rain and whiskey on his tongue. 

"You make it… difficult.  You are more noble than my cause.  If you could see your soul, how bright it is… how you touch everyone around you? Taking you from this plane would be like blotting out the sun."  Castiel shakes his head.  Dean is frozen, somehow, against Castiel’s body. Castiel cards a gentle hand through his hair, tastes his mouth again, his tongue gently prodding Dean’s mouth to open.  Dean feels like he’s in a daze. 

"You are a righteous man, Dean."  Castiel draws him closer into something like an embrace, "How can I tuck you away in an isolated box in heaven when you are so needed on earth?"

Dean can’t find his words.  He tries to move, but he’s stuck in jello or something, and Cas smells amazing anyway, smells like he tastes, and his dark hair is feathery and soft.  Dean likes how it feels beneath his hands.  Plus, he sounds like maybe he’s going to save him?  Can’t hurt to feel him up a little, and maybe Dean is curious what the angel’s packing. If he’d met him in a bar and not on his deathbed, he definitely would have taken him out back and let him tell him how righteous he is all night long. 

Castiel jumps in surprise when Dean’s hands come to rest at his hips, one hand drifting lower—

"Dean."  Castiel says, wetting his lips with his tongue, his breathing deeper and more ragged.  Dean nods to show he’s listening, but he likes how Castiel’s hands have tightened on his shoulder, his hips pushing into the hand cupping him curiously.  "Dean." Castiel repeats, pleading this time. 

"Yeah?"  Dean asks, still dazed, his whole body humming with desire now.

"You are dying, Dean."

"Oh.  You’re not going to let me die, though."

"I’m not?"

"You’re not, right?"

"I’m not."  Castiel agrees, pushing a little closer, his breaths on Dean’s ear wet and more like whimpers. "I can’t."

"Awesome. So, where were we?" Dean grins, tightening his hand enough that Castiel throws his head back and groans quietly.

"I need to save you, Dean."

Dean’s fascinated by the curve of Cas’ throat, the faintest trace of stubble along his adam apple as Dean traces a finger over it. 

"Ok.  Save me."  Dean agrees. He doesn’t want to let go, wants to keep his hands on this strange creature that smells like everything he’s ever wanted to bury his nose in. 

Castiel chuckles, and his grin is just as gorgeous as the bend of his throat. 

"I’m going to get in so much trouble for this."

"Thanks."  Dean offers.

"I’ve… Dean, I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember."  Castiel sighs, into his shoulder. "Angels are cold, but you… you’re warm."  Castiel’s hands lock around his lower back.  "You’re so warm."

"Uh."  Dean grins again, unsure what else to say. But that’s ok because Cas’ lips are on his throat and Dean’s excited for what else the reaper has planned for them. 

One of the machines Dean’s hooked up to goes off, a high pitched whining disrupting the silent room. 

"Oh god."  Dean pulls back, reality crashing around him like a bucket of ice water. "Cas!"

"It’s ok."  Cas soothes, a hand in his hair, tilting his chin back so he meets those blue eyes. "I set it off.  The nurse will come and check on you now.  She’ll notice your stomach is distended and suspect internal bleeding."

Dean watches as a plump woman does just that, fussing with his covers and twisting in alarm to call out some code to the other nurses.

More medical staff streams in, and there’s Sam, wild eyed and white faced, and his dad, and the doctor is pushing them back, telling them to stay out.  Sam slams his hand against the side of the glass window in the hallway, running a hand through his hair.  Dad rests a hand on Sam’s shoulder and Sam shrugs him off angrily.

Still Cas kisses him.

"You were supposed to die quietly, but they’ll find it in time now."

"They will?"

"They’re taking you to surgery."  Castiel explains as the medical staff wheels Dean’s body out of the room and Sam collapses into Dad’s arms, crying.

"Cas," Dean watches his brother hug his father tightly, watches him squeeze his eyes shut against the tears before he turns back to the reaper. "thank you."

Cas smiles, and Dean doesn’t believe him when he said angels are cold.

"You’re going to get in trouble, huh? How bad?"  Dean asks.  He likes Cas’ collarbone, likes how it peaks just out of his white button down shirt, two buttons undone at the top.  Sexy.

"Mmmm… probably not for a few millenia.  They aren’t very good at  keeping tabs on the day to day souls, there’s so many people dying and living each day in this modern age.  I’m ok for now."

"You didn’t answer my question, Cas."  Dean presses.

"You call me Cas.  That’s not my name."  Castiel tilts his head, a smile tickling his lips.  "But I like it."

"Yeah?"  Dean grins, leaning in because Cas tastes great. "So, we’ve got a few minutes before they fix me, right?"

"Probably a few days til you’re conscious again, but they will pull you from the brink of death in… probably a few hours."

"Hmm.  What should we do until then?"  Dean asks. 

"I was hoping… more of this?"  Castiel nuzzles his neck, nibbling at his ear and burying his nose in his hair.  

"Sounds like a plan."

**Author's Note:**

> Idk I just think Dean would feel up someone who was whispering romantic poetry in his ear.


End file.
